


The Last Dance

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, M/M, cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:06:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Turgon and Elenwë's wedding, Fingon and Maedhros also manage to find the chance for a brief moment of romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Dance

The day had been bright and hot and cloudless, the tree-light streaming down onto the faces of the guests as they gathered in the palace gardens, decorated with coloured flags and garlands of flowers. Manwë had ensured that the weather was indeed fitting for the wedding of a prince. But Turukáno’s face had glowed as Findekáno had never seen it glow before, as if the light came from within him instead of from Laurelin. He knew relatively little of Elenwë so far, but she was good for his brother, he thought.

After the official ceremony, the guests had spent a long, leisurely day dancing, singing, eating and drinking. But now the lights were starting to mingle, casting the gardens in a soft, dappled glow. Guests were starting to drift away from the dancefloor, young couples giggling with conspiratorial delight, parents cradling children who had dropped off to sleep. Turukáno and Elenwë were nowhere to be seen, Findekáno noted with a small smile. He could see several figures lying under one of the large cherry trees that surrounded the garden, to all appearances asleep. Some of his cousins perhaps? Maybe the wine had been flowing a little  _too_  freely. He even felt a little light-headed himself, or perhaps that had more to do with Maitimo standing beside him, so close by his elbow that Findekáno could feel the warmth of his skin, although they were not quite touching.

The musicians finished the song they had been playing, a lively country dance. The first strains of the next song began, a slow, bittersweet melody in the minor key. Couples began to materialise on the dancefloor, moving in slow circles in the evening light. Findekáno smiled shyly up at Maitimo.

“My prince.” He bowed low. “Would you honour me with this last dance?” He extended a hand, trying to suppress his laughter.

Maitimo was clearly attempting to frown, rather unsuccessfully, Findekáno thought. “Fin, don’t talk rubbish. We should at least  _try_  to behave ourselves at your brother’s wedding. We’d be the talk of Tirion.”

“Oh Russandol. You do know, don’t you, that we are already the talk of Tirion? We have been for some time, if Irissë is to be believed, and I am inclined to think that she is. Anyway, most people seem to have fallen asleep in the bushes, or some such thing. And as to it being my brother’s wedding… Turno won’t mind. Besides, I’m certain he and his pretty new Vanyarin bride, are… otherwise occupied.”

Findekáno could see Maitimo’s fair face twitch for a moment, determined not to appear so easily persuaded. Then he gave in, and a rueful smile spread across his features. “Damn you, Fin. Here I am trying to bring a little respectability to this ridiculous family, but you can always persuade me to do the silliest things. I don’t know how you manage it.”

Findekáno grinned, taking his cousin’s hand and sweeping him towards an empty corner of the dance floor, away from the main press of people. “Is this a secluded enough spot for you? And yes, it is indeed an arduous task, but someone has to do it. We can’t have you getting too respectable now, can we? That, after all, would be boring.”

Maitimo’s smile grew wider, laughter glinting in his bright silver eyes, his pale, freckled cheeks dimpling a little, his copper-red hair seeming to glow like flame in the silver of Telperion and the fading gold of Laurelin. Findekáno stared up at him, marvelling again at how beautiful he was. He wrapped his arms around Maitimo, aware that he they were breaking every rule of propriety between royal cousins, and not caring a bit. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth and texture of his cousin’s hair and skin against his face as he laid his head against his neck, at this moment completely calm and contented. As he did so, the tense muscles in Maitimo’s neck seemed to relax a little, and he returned the embrace, arms joining behind Findekáno’s back, head inclined forward so that his chin rested against the top of Findekáno’s head.

“Mmm, remember this song, Russandol?

“How could I possibly forget it? Macalaurë went through a phase of practicing it endlessly until I couldn’t stand it anymore. It was the first time he thought himself hopelessly in love with one of those girls he met in Alqualondë, the summer we spent there.”

“My dear Russandol, you do realise, do you not, that that was a dreadfully unromantic thing to say?”

“I - ”

“And that that character trait of yours makes me love you all the more? Never change. Ever.”

“You’re a little drunk, Fin.”

“I should say so. But is not a wedding the correct time for it? And are not you equally so?”

Maitimo blushed. “Perhaps a little.”

Findekáno started to hum under his breath as they danced, their feet moving together in time with the slow, sweet melody the musicians played on their harps and flutes. When he got to the chorus, the only part of the song he knew, he half-sang, half-whispered the familiar words, his voice muffled in Maitimo’s hair.

_“Oh where and when shall I follow my love?_

_To the end of the world or the sky above?_

_Through cold and dark and journey long,_

_And maybe one day they will sing a song,_

_Of how I braved the bitterest pain,_

_And all to be by your side again.”_

The song ended. “Findekáno” said Maitimo “You really are quite beautiful now, did you know that?”

Findekáno feigned a hurt look. “Then… am I not always?”

“Of course you are. You are a paragon of beauty, and half of the fine court ladies in Tirion would happily strangle me for you, and a not insignificant proportion of the lords would too, I suspect. But I didn’t mean that. I meant that song… somehow it suits you. It seems like  _your_  song. I don’t know why. If you were a song, I think… you’d be that one. Does that make any sense at all?”

Findekáno’s brow wrinkled thoughtfully. “I don’t know, Maitimo. That sounds like entirely too much philosophy for this stage of the evening. I am certain I will feel more like thinking tomorrow, but for now…”

His words tailed off, and he tilted his head back, their eyes meeting. Their faces were so close, and Findekáno’s heart fluttered as he felt Maitimo’s bright warmth again, a glow spreading across his own cheeks. Their lips met, brushing each other delicately at first, and then pressing hungrily together as they both lost themselves in the kiss, the sounds of the world around them melting into nothingness.

Any thinking that was to be done really would have to wait.


End file.
